


Masquerade

by lunesque (Moriavis)



Category: Kyo Kara Maoh!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-07
Updated: 2006-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-12 10:41:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moriavis/pseuds/lunesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yuuri has a Halloween party, Anissina has new inventions, Conrad exhibits questionable behavior, and Gwendal is stuck in the middle of it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

> This story was totally inspired by the Sheep!Conrad plushie. I have two of them. They kill me with cuteness. This story wouldn't have been possible to finish without [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/suaine/profile)[**suaine**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/suaine/), for discovering the little detail that was holding me up (and for listening to me whine), and [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/countermelodic/profile)[**countermelodic**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/countermelodic/) for being so good natured… and listening to me whine. Special thanks to my beta, [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/scheherezhad/profile)[**scheherezhad**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/scheherezhad/), for encouraging me even though she got a lot of these >.< faces. If I missed anyone, you know who you are and I love you despite it all. (Gah, this sounds like an Acadamy Award speech. Ech.)

Gwendal's eye twitches.

"You want what?" he asks, managing to keep his tone calm and firm.

"A Halloween party!" His Majesty exclaims, smiling enthusiastically. "In my world, it's only a couple of days away, and I've decided that we should have Halloween here, too. I really want to celebrate it. It'll be a lot fun."

Gwendal resists the urge to rub his temple, scowling at the headache that is threatening to form. " _What_ is Halloween?"

His Majesty babbles something about strangers and candy and how his mother always put him in something with wings, but the darker Gwendal's expression gets, the softer His Majesty speaks, until he trails off helplessly and looks to Conrad for help.

Conrad takes a smooth step forward, customary half-smile in place. "It's a day when people celebrate the spirits of the dead. It's traditional for participants to dress in costume and give out candy to children."

Gwendal drums his fingers on his desk. "You dress in strange clothing, and go begging for sweets?" Gwendal finally says, careful to keep his distaste out of his voice.

"It's not exactly begging…" His Majesty mutters, scratching the back of his head. "But we can pretend to be demons and frighten people, too!"

Conrad raises a hand to his mouth, stifling his laughter. Gwendal stares at His Majesty coolly until His Majesty realizes what he had just said and flushes pink. "Ah, okay, maybe not demons, but—" His Majesty looks at Conrad again.

"The costumes don't have to be frightening," Conrad says. "They can be cute, as well."

Gwendal's fingers stop. "Cute?"

Conrad nods, his smile widening. "Yes. Bunnies, or cats, or puppies. Your costume can be anything."

Gwendal glares.

Conrad smiles.

Gwendal lets out his breath in a nearly inaudible sigh and turns back to his paperwork. After a moment of silence, he says, "Ask Gunter to make the preparations."

His Majesty beams and hurries out of the office to find Gunter. Conrad stands there for a moment longer, looking down at Gwendal. Gwendal looks back up at Conrad and arches an eyebrow. Conrad laughs, shaking his head. "Cheer up. It isn't the end of the world." He salutes smartly, warmth softening his eyes, and leaves the room.

*

The castle is abuzz about the upcoming party. Gwendal thinks that he's beginning to regret giving permission, especially when he sees Anissina and Josak conspiring over something in the corners. It's bad enough when Anissina is excited, but that particular pair speaks well for disaster. Fortunately, they don't seem to have any interest in him at the moment, but it would be sloppy to let his guard down.

When Anissina and Josak corner Conrad, he briefly contemplates assisting him. Then his common sense comes to the forefront, and he hastily retreats. He has faith in Conrad, after all. He will survive.

*

His mother starts the day of the gala wearing her costume. Gwendal isn't quite sure what she's supposed to be, but there is a great deal of flimsy material and bare skin. His Highness keeps lurking by her side and saying amusing things—Gwendal has to admit he can't really see why His Highness wants to be squeezed by Gwendal's mother so much, but then, there is much he doesn't understand about His Highness, or his mother, for that matter.

He sincerely hopes that no one expects to see him in costume.

That hope, however, is dashed the moment his mother sees him.

"Gwen! Where's your costume?" she asks, hurrying up to him with a bright smile.

Gwendal stares at her in baleful trepidation. "I don't have one."

"Aww!" she pouts. She smoothes an imaginary crease on his shoulder. "That just won't do. It'll have to be something simple, but--" She turns away, and then twists back with a determined look in her eyes. "I'll have one ready for you by the time the party starts. You'll wear it for your mother, won't you?"

As she runs off for one of the maids, Gwendal wonders if he even has a choice.

*

Gwendal feels a headache begin pounding behind his eyes as everyone filters into the ballroom. He is ensconced safely in a corner where he is relatively sure no one can see him. He is also absolutely horrified at the costume his mother has chosen for him, although he refuses to show it. He hopes that he can just make a brief appearance and then retire to his room for the rest of the night.

"There you are!" His mother swoops down on him like a half-naked bird of prey and grabs his arm in a tight grip. "I thought I lost you for a moment. We need to mingle, Gwen. _Min-gle_. Oh _look_ at _Josak_! He's so cute!"

Gwendal turns a disinterested eye toward the doorway, and sure enough, there is Josak, squeezed into a white-and-blue shepherdess dress, with a shepherd's crook in one hand and a blue rope in the other that is the exact shade of his skirt. He glances at what Josak is tugging along behind him and freezes, feeling a flush rising up his throat as his mother shrieks with glee next to him. " _Conrart_!"

Gwendal hardly realizes what he is doing until Josak drops the rope, blinking in surprise, and he finds his arms full of a fluffy, laughing Conrad. Conrad is covered in gray wool, with small, curved horns protruding from the sides of his head, and black gloves on his hands that are reminiscent of hooves. "Gwendal?" he says through his laughter.

Gwendal clutches Conrad tighter, a sudden rush of possessiveness making him feel slightly lightheaded. "Cute," he manages, and Conrad laughs again.

"Josak convinced me to be his sheep," Conrad says, waving his makeshift hooves. "Moo. Moo."

Realizing how odd and utterly undignified he must look clinging to his brother, Gwendal takes a deep breath and steps back. "I see."

Conrad looks at Gwendal and tilts his head. "What did Mother put you into?"

Gwendal looks at the white cloths swathing his arms, remembering how long it had taken his mother and the maids to complete, and scowls. "I assume I'm the servant Wolfram once immolated."

"Big brother!" Wolfram wails behind him. "I was _twelve_!"

"Hey," His Majesty says, popping up next to Conrad. "What exactly is 'immolate,' anyhow?"

"I'm _going_ to immolate _you_ , wimp," Wolfram mutters under his breath, and Gwendal wonders if His Majesty is smart enough to be concerned about the threat. The king, however, appears to be blissfully ignorant.

"I think you're supposed to be a mummy," He decides. Gwendal stares at him until the boy shifts uncomfortably and edges away. "You know, it's a dead body, all wrapped up…?"

Gwendal's fingers begin to itch for his knitting needles. Conrad smiles and pats his shoulder reassuringly, but whatever comfort the action gives either of them disappears the moment Conrad tries to raise his hand off of Gwendal's shoulder and realizes he is stuck. "Ah." Conrad frowns, pulling his hand again.

"What's wrong?" His Majesty asks, craning his neck to look.

There is a sudden, high-pitched laugh in the air that makes Gwendal's skin crawl, and he looks for an escape in increasing desperation. "So, you have discovered my new invention!" Anissina crows, appearing as if summoned. With a single move of her hand over Gwendal's shoulder, she releases Conrad's grip and turns his hand over, attaining everyone's attention with a grand, sweeping gesture. "This is called Dumpling Miracle-kun! With the smallest amount of maryoku, the wearer of this invention can climb walls, jump chasms, and move almost as quickly as a Hell's Paradise Goala on a rampage! Isn't it wonderful?"

A look of disbelief passes between Conrad and Gwendal, and Yuuri mentions hesitantly, "But Conrad doesn't have any maryoku. Why'd he get stuck on Gwendal?"

Anissina smiles as she points to an object in the middle of Conrad's palm that resembles a small plastic suction cup, and then plants her hands firmly on her hips. "It's really very simple… and brilliant, if I do say so myself. You see, if someone with no maryoku wears these, they can actually siphon maryoku off of others and use it to power the gloves!"

Yuuri nods along with her words, appearing genuinely interested for a change. Gwendal winces inside—if there is one thing Anissina likes more than a guinea pig, it's an attentive audience. "If you'll excuse me," he states before she can really get into it, and promptly attempts to lose himself in the crowd. He knows there's something inherently cruel about leaving others to her mercy, but it's an instinct he simply doesn't have any will to resist.

He finds himself a niche against a wall and gets a glass of wine from a passing servant, ignoring the despairing looks his mother keeps giving him. Eventually, Conrad appears to get tired of being led around on a leash and removes it to reveal a bright yellow ribbon, the bow nestled in the hollow of his throat. Gwendal's hand tightens around the stem of his glass, and he downs the wine in a single gulp before heading toward the exit.

He makes it out of the hall with less effort than he'd originally anticipated, and nods his acknowledgement to the guards he had placed at the entrance earlier that evening. They step inside the room to give him some privacy, and he sighs, leaning against the wall and tugging at the bandages around his face and neck. They fall loose with ease, and he takes his first unrestricted breath of the night with unadulterated pleasure. The maids had wrapped him a little tightly, but he had been too stubborn to complain.

He hears the footsteps before he sees the intruder, tensing up in automatic response and sliding his eyes to the side, focusing on the source. It's only Conrad, in that damnably adorable sheep costume, and he can feel that blush rising up his neck again. That just disturbs him on an entirely different level—he almost wishes it was someone who wasn't supposed to be there, instead of his brother. Conrad offers Gwendal a goblet of wine, and he declines the cup—he drank his previous glass too quickly, and he doesn't want his head to get fuzzy so early in the evening.

Conrad leans against the wall next to him, swirling the wine in his cup before taking a sip. "Isn't it a little early to end your public appearance?"

Gwendal smirks. "You could go back. Mingle. Save His Majesty from Anissina's clutches."

"And leave you to lurk out here by yourself?"

Gwendal shoots Conrad an unamused look, and Conrad smiles, raising his glass a little too late to hide it. Gwendal's pulse speeds up at the sight of that smile, and he wonders briefly if the wine was perhaps doused with some other spirit—he really wouldn't put it past His Highness to participate in such a prank.

"Gwendal, are you feeling all right?" Conrad's voice is soft and concerned. Gwendal wants to reassure him, wants to look at him again—alternately, he wants to walk away and retreat to the safety of his rooms, and perhaps apologize for his odd behavior tomorrow. When he's sure he's not going to do something… inconsiderate. He nods once, a short, sharp movement, hoping that's enough of an answer for Conrad.

Conrad laughs and shakes his head. "It's the costume, isn't it?" He pushes his hood off, careful not to dislodge his horns (Gwendal had assumed the horns were part of the hood, but they're actually pinned into Conrad's hair somehow) and tousles his hair almost contritely. "I told Josak that it was a little too much, but he was adamant."

Gwendal makes a little 'hm' sound of acknowledgement and takes a step forward. "You should go back and watch over His Majesty. I believe I'm finished for the night."

"Gwendal," Conrad says suddenly, and Gwendal arches an eyebrow, glancing back at his brother. "I."

Gwendal waits for Conrad to complete the sentence, and after a few minutes of silence prompts helpfully, "You?"

"I lied," Conrad confesses, his hand rising to rub the back of his neck ruefully.

Gwendal remains silent, having no clue what he's supposed to say.

"Josak didn't choose my costume," Conrad clarifies, his voice soft.

"All right," Gwendal states.

"It is?" Conrad says, and there's a note in his voice that sounds a lot like hope. Gwendal isn't sure, but he suddenly thinks that he's missing something.

"It's not?" Gwendal asks gruffly.

"Perhaps?" Conrad says slowly, watching Gwendal.

Gwendal, by this time, is thoroughly confused. Granted, neither he nor his brother is considered eloquent, but this is ridiculous. "Conrart, what are you trying to say?"

Conrad hesitates. "It's…difficult to say."

Gwendal arches an eyebrow. "Apparently."

Conrad hesitates for another instant before he takes a deep breath, closes the distance between them, and brushes his lips against Gwendal's so quickly that Gwendal thinks he imagines it.

Gwendal blinks as Conrad takes a step back, and he half-raises his hand to touch his mouth, but stops at the last moment and drops his hand back to his side instead. He normally prides himself on his observational skills, and he wonders how he'd managed to miss this.

"Gwendal?" Conrad ventures.

Gwendal ignores Conrad for a moment, gestures for his guards to resume their places, and then starts down the hall toward his room. He licks his lips almost unconsciously as he hears Conrad fall into step behind him but refuses to utter a sound until they are both in his room and safely behind the closed door.

"Gwendal?" Conrad says again, voice hesitant and soft

Gwendal turns back to Conrad, eyes narrowing as he crosses his arms over his chest. "You're trying to seduce me," Gwendal says, his voice rougher and angrier than he actually intends to sound.

Something in Conrad's eyes flickers, and he presses close to Gwendal, resting his hands on Gwendal's chest and nuzzling the line of his jaw. "Yes. I am."

Gwendal ignores the prickly flush of warmth that crawls up his throat and puts his hands on Conrad's shoulders, stilling his younger brother's movements. "Conrart, you're my brother. This isn't right."

"Does that really matter?" Conrad asks, and the breath passing over his earlobe causes Gwendal to shiver.

Gwendal jerks his head away, eyes cutting to the side so he can continue to watch Conrad. "Of course it does," Gwendal snaps, and the fact that Conrad's touch heats him more than the cup of wine he had gulped makes him feel hypocritical and even angrier at himself.

"Why?" Conrad asks, pulling away just enough to look at Gwendal. Gwendal takes the opportunity to push him a step back, breathing easier when there is space between them and it isn't so effortless for Conrad to touch him. He conveniently ignores that Conrad's hands are still resting on his chest.

"Conrart. You're my brother. We _can't_ do this."

Conrad's tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Does that mean you want to?"

Gwendal blushes hotly, but he remains silent all the same, refusing to give up any more ground.

Conrad takes an anxious breath, words spilling out over each other as though he can't hold onto them for another moment. "I've always watched you—your weaponry classes with Gunter and the rare times you crossed swords with my father. When you made your contract and practiced your Earth Maryoku. You were always so cool and stern, and angry. I know you hated my father… and I always hoped it didn't extend to me, even though it felt like nothing I did mattered to you—"

"I never _hated_ you, Conrart," Gwendal says, flustered at his brother's sudden outpouring of emotion.

"And then Wolfram was born," Conrad continues relentlessly. "I wanted to be the kind of brother I dreamed that you could be, but I failed him. He turned away from me for the same reason that you never loved me. Because I was human."

"Are you listening to what you're saying?" Gwendal says harshly, his grip on Conrad's shoulders loosening as he takes a step back. "You don't even sound like yourself!"

"I know," Conrad says softly, taking a step forward. "And I know that you'll turn me away. I'm just tired of…not knowing. If it's possible."

"There isn't anything to know," Gwendal says, and the next words spill out before he can stop them. "You love His Majesty."

Conrad laughs, his expression softening. "Yes, I love His Majesty. But I'm _in_ love with _you_." While Gwendal tries to find a response, Conrad asks, "You honestly didn't know?"

Gwendal frowns. "Do you think you were so obvious?"

"I thought you were being kind to me, at first." Conrad pauses a moment before continuing. "When it seemed like you _didn't_ know how I felt, I thought if I got you to notice me… that's why I chose this costume. You never could resist cute things."

Gwendal feels his mouth twitch in amusement, despite the tension between them. "You think you know me so well."

"I know we haven't been close. I know you don't feel the same…"

"If I don't feel the same, then why are you even saying any of this?" Gwendal demands.

Conrad's eyes darken, and he averts his eyes. "I don't know. I'm sorry. Forget I said anything."

Something in Gwendal's chest turns over painfully at the sight of Conrad feeling so obviously humiliated, and he raises a hand, resting it on one of Conrad's. "Conrart."

"There isn't anything you need to say." Conrad tries to pull his hand away and flushes as he realizes the gloves have once again stuck him to Gwendal. "As always, Lady Anissina's device does very little of what it promises."

Gwendal takes a deep breath, his heartbeat thudding in his ears, and slides his fingers underneath Conrad's chin, tilting his head up so that his brother is forced to meet his eyes. "Conrart. You talk too much." His hand glides down the fuzzy softness of Conrad's arm, and he steps closer as his fingers follow the line of Conrad's back, pressing him in. Conrad breathes a sound, a simple intake of breath, and Gwendal slides his mouth against Conrad's. His kiss isn't gentle, but it is cautious in the way of someone who has grown unaccustomed to such intimacy. Gwendal pulls away, and Conrad sighs, eyes fluttering closed as he leans against the other man, peppering Gwendal's lips, cheek, and jaw with small kisses that leave a trail of tingling warmth on Gwendal's skin.

"Conrart," Gwendal says, but Conrad shakes his head, tongue flicking out to wet the soft flesh behind Gwendal's ear.

"Please kiss me again."

Gwendal can't help but respond to Conrad's plea, hand moving from Conrad's chin to cradle his cheek. "Conrart, we _shouldn't_ —"

"Shhh," Conrad whispers, rubbing his mouth against Gwendal's throat. Gwendal's grip tightens around Conrad's waist, and he's suddenly and desperately glad that he had loosened the bandages earlier, because there's no way he wants to miss this.

"Conrart," Gwendal tries again, vainly, and Conrad shakes his head before latching onto the skin beneath Gwendal's jaw and sucking _hard_ ; the action sends a pulse of pure sensation through Gwendal and he goes boneless, his grip on Conrad the only thing keeping him upright.

"Gwendal," Conrad sighs, moving just enough to press his mouth against Gwendal's again as he impatiently tugs at his hands, which remain glued firmly into place.

"Mph," Gwendal says, and he drops his hand from Conrad's face to the hands on his chest, moving by feel until he catches the snaps at the wrists and pulls them open. Conrad eases his hands from the gloves, fingers crawling over the textured cloth of Gwendal's costume and exploring the curves of Gwendal's shoulders eagerly, tracing circles over the sinew and muscle.

Gwendal brings his hand back up to cradle the back of Conrad's head, tilting his face just enough to deepen the kiss and then back away, teasing and light. Gwendal feels Conrad's fingers pet through the long tail of his hair, hands moving up to rub his fingertips slowly over Gwendal's scalp, and Gwendal kisses him again, nipping at Conrad's lower lip. Conrad parts his lips without any more coaxing, tongue sweeping out to ease Gwendal's own mouth open. Gwendal breathes a soft moan as their tongues glide against each other, and it's messy and wet and Conrad is far too good at this for Gwendal's own peace of mind.

Conrad pulls away, fingers retracing their previous path before he leans in again and steals another kiss. "Let's get this off of you, Gwen," he whispers, tugging on Gwendal's costume.

It takes a minute for Conrad's words to sink into the pleasantly aroused state of Gwendal's mind, and he blinks. "Off?" he rumbles, his tongue feeling thick and useless in his mouth. It's a chore to get even that one word out.

"Yes," Conrad smiles sweetly. "Off. I've known you my entire life. It's not as if we're strangers." Conrad hesitates, hands still on Gwendal's arms. "Would…would you rather wait?"

Gwendal shakes his head mutely, not trusting his voice, and Conrad's smile widens as he pulls one of his horns out of his hair. At the end of this costume prop is a thin, wicked-looking stiletto, and Conrad flushes slightly at Gwendal's apprising look. "I couldn't carry my sword properly with this outfit," Conrad explains, gesturing at the stiletto. "I found other ways to carry the weapons necessary to protect His Majesty."

Gwendal smiles at Conrad, pleased at his brother's resourcefulness. Conrad's mouth curves into an answering smile, and he slits the bandages carefully with the small blade. His smile falters a little as he uncovers another layer beneath the bandages he is removing, and Gwendal laughs softly.

"Did you think I allowed Mother and the maids to wrap me so in my underclothes?" Gwendal asks.

Conrad laughs. "I did hope."

Gwendal runs his fingers through Conrad's hair, dislodging the other stiletto with a careful movement and then turning to his night table and setting the weapon down. Conrad follows with almost no sound, pressing against Gwendal's back and dusting a kiss over his shoulder as he sets down the knife in his hand next to the one Gwendal had retrieved. The ribbon follows, floating on the air for a second before resting over the blades.

Gwendal catches Conrad's wrist and tugs him forward as he turns, pulling Conrad off balance and back into his arms before he buries his face in Conrad's hair, breathing him in. Conrad smells like a mixture of wool and soap and sweat, and Gwendal remembers once, almost a century ago, when Conrad had come back from the human village he was so fond of, and he had hugged Gwendal, still too young to know that Gwendal didn't want to touch him. He had smelled a little more of sunshine, then—and that realization causes Gwendal to tense, the past intruding on the present.

Conrad feels the change and draws his hands up to cup Gwendal's face. "Gwendal," he says softly. "You think too much." Gwendal opens his mouth to protest but gets only the barest of sounds out before Conrad seals his mouth over Gwendal's once more, drawing Gwendal back to him, wrapping his arms around Gwendal's neck and kissing him over and over again until Gwendal's hands come back around his waist to hold him tighter than before.

Conrad sucks a trail down Gwendal's neck, and he fights with the tiny buttons on Gwendal's shirt, peeling the fabric away and kissing each millimeter of skin he manages to expose. Gwendal closes his eyes, hands tangling in Conrad's hair, breath quickening with each brush of Conrad's fingers and lips on his skin, but the thump of Conrad's knees on the floor causes Gwendal's eyes to fly back open in surprise. Conrad smiles up at Gwendal as if to reassure him, and peels his trousers down to his ankles before stroking his fingers almost reverently over Gwendal's cock. Gwendal hardens even more under Conrad's touch, the blood rushing down making him feel a little lightheaded.

Conrad laughs. "I'm glad."

"What?" Gwendal says gruffly.

Conrad squeezes Gwendal's cock and trails his fingers under the head. "I didn't know if you were really enjoying this. Now I have proof."

Gwendal is sure that he has a rejoinder to that bit of absurdity, but it flies out of his mind as Conrad slides his mouth over him with a groan and begins to suck. Conrad's mouth is hot, almost scalding, his tongue slicking along the length of him, and Gwendal groans, hips twitching into a half-aborted thrust, hands finding Conrad's hair again and clenching helplessly. Conrad is moaning steadily, gentle and insistent, and Gwendal can't decide whether he wants to close his eyes and focus on the warmth and wet of Conrad's mouth or watch the way Conrad is looking at him, flushed pink with arousal and heat, cheeks hollowing with each small movement, lips red and swollen, stretched so carefully around him.

Conrad makes an unhappy sound as Gwendal pulls him away, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "Did I do something wrong?" he asks, his voice rough, and Gwendal doesn't bother with a reply, pulling him to his feet, hands sliding up to hold Conrad's face as he kisses him hungrily, tongue sliding along Conrad's teeth and rubbing against the roof of his mouth, before wrapping around Conrad's own tongue and tasting himself.

Gwendal's hands are agile on Conrad's buttons, and they both take a moment to remove their boots and kick off the rest of their clothes before Conrad takes Gwendal's hand and walks backward toward the bed. His eyes are unwavering on Gwendal's as he drops Gwendal's hand and caresses his chest, fingers tripping over the lines of his ribs. Confident that he has Gwendal's attention, Conrad half crawls, half-slithers onto the bed, sending a look over his shoulder that can only be described as sultry, and Gwendal has to take himself in hand, has to squeeze and remind himself that he isn't sixty anymore and that it's hardly dignified to come from a look, no matter how searing it might be.

Gwendal wonders if Conrad even knows how sexy he is like this; if maybe the earlier uncertainty is some sort of game and he has been a pawn the entire night. Gwendal feels jealousy curl in his stomach at the thought that someone, somewhere has seen Conrad like this before. Then Conrad looks at him again, and he can do nothing but follow, sliding his hands over the back of Conrad's calves, licking at the irresistible flat planes of scarred flesh and warm muscle. Conrad moans, clutching handfuls of the bedspread as Gwendal skims his teeth along Conrad's side, nipping at the narrow flare of his hip and flicking his tongue over the scar he finds there.

Conrad squirms beneath Gwendal, reaching back and trying to tug him—Gwendal isn't sure which way Conrad is trying to pull him, so he ignores the urging, turning Conrad onto his back and biting at his navel.

Conrad moans, and Gwendal can feel the vibrations tremor through his body as he inches up, leaving a trail of sucking kisses on his stomach. Conrad clutches at Gwendal's hair, long tendrils coming loose of its band, and Gwendal pulls the tie out, tossing it to the side. His hair falls over the both of them like a curtain, and Gwendal thinks it's distracting, but not nearly as distracting as the way Conrad shakes under him, each accidental brush of Gwendal's hair causing his muscles to twitch and jump.

Gwendal pauses and shakes his head slightly, the movement causing the ends of his hair to brush Conrad's stomach. The muscles ripple, and he is reminded of when he strokes his kitten too lightly and her back shivers. Conrad wraps his hand in Gwendal's hair and yanks; Gwendal winces and shoots Conrad an irritated look, but Conrad just looks back, unapologetic. "If you tease me now," Conrad says, his voice tight, "I will kill you."

"Hmm," Gwendal says, and eases back up Conrad's body, dragging his nails over Conrad's ribs before biting a nipple hard in retaliation for his hair. Conrad arches beneath Gwendal, arms coming up to hold him close again.

"Do you have—?" Conrad gasps out as their legs tangle together.

"Mmm?" Gwendal says, pausing his path along Conrad's collarbone. "Oh. Ah…" He raises his head and looks around the room before reaching over and pulling open the drawer of his nightstand. Everything in there is perfectly in its place. "No. I don't."

"Don't say that," Conrad breathes, hiding his face against Gwendal's neck. "Gwendal, _please_ —"

"It isn't as if I was _expecting_ this, Conrart," Gwendal says crossly.

"No, it's okay," Conrad says hastily. "I'll just get dressed and get--"

"Wait," Gwendal says, and disentangles himself from Conrad. He goes over to his closet and searches until he finds a small jar, and then goes back to the bed. "This might work…I think."

"What is it?" Conrad asks, sitting up and looking at the jar curiously.

"Anissina gave it to me a couple of years ago."

"A couple of years…?" Conrad says doubtfully, taking the jar from Gwendal and opening it cautiously.

"Yes." Gwendal peers at it, half expecting something horrible to jump out although he had opened the jar once before and nothing had happened.

Conrad sniffs it, and then dips two fingers into the jar and pulls them out, rubbing the liquid between his fingers. Then he smiles wickedly at Gwendal and says, "Remind me to thank Anissina later. This will work perfectly."

"All right," Gwendal agrees, still wary. "How are we…?" He gestures between them, a blush staining his cheeks again.

Conrad purses his mouth in thought, and then carefully sets the jar aside before threading his hand through Gwendal's hair. He grazes his lips over Gwendal's jaw, nuzzling behind his ear before biting his earlobe. "I want you," he whispers. "You can decide next time."

Gwendal exhales shakily as Conrad embraces him again. "Next time?"

Conrad laughs, pushing Gwendal up and turning onto his stomach. He rests his cheek on his arms, blushing a little at the position. Gwendal runs his hand down Conrad's back, just feeling him, and kisses a line against Conrad's shoulder blade. He takes the jar and pours the oil on the small of Conrad's back. Conrad shivers, and Gwendal smoothes it over his skin, watching it glisten as it drips down into the crevice of Conrad's ass and pouring a little more oil on his fingers before stroking Conrad's entrance. Gwendal is careful as he pets Conrad once again, and then presses a finger in. Conrad grunts at the intrusion, and Gwendal goes slower, moving his finger in unhurried circles. After a couple of minutes, Conrad stirs restlessly, and Gwendal adds more oil before pressing two fingers in. Conrad arches, and Gwendal can't help but stare, taking everything in: Conrad's hands on the coverlet, how his face is turned against one of his arms as though embarrassed even though his hips twitch back in invitation, the sweat beading the fine hair at the nape of his neck—

"Gwendal!" Conrad snaps, and Gwendal starts, blushing guiltily.

"Yes, Conrart?" he answers.

"I'm not going to break. I'm ready." Gwendal blushes again at how blunt Conrad is, wonders if he could ever be as straightforward about his desires and nods, noticing Conrad's muscles twitch again as his hair slides over Conrad's back. He pulls his fingers out and rests his hand against Conrad's back, still slick and shiny from the oil he had poured a few minutes before, positions himself, and thrusts.

They exhale at almost the same moment, air hissing through their teeth, and Gwendal squeezes his eyes shut, still pressing in, thrusts short and shallow. Conrad is too hot and too tight and Gwendal thinks for a moment that this is probably the most pleasant way to go insane, just endless pleasure, a little pain as Conrad's muscles clench around him, the small mewling sounds that Gwendal is quite sure Conrad doesn't know he's making. He wants this to go on forever, the slow, delicious push in and smooth pull out, but all the sensation is already gathering into a knot at the pit of his stomach, tightening in his balls, and he leans over Conrad, one arm around his brother's chest and the other guiding his hips backward. It takes one more push before his climax pulses out of him, and he bites the back of Conrad's neck hard to prevent his cry from escaping.

For a moment, Gwendal is encased in an agreeable fog of afterglow, and he feels warm and boneless as he pulls gently out of Conrad. Conrad turns over to capture him in another embrace, and he sinks lazily into his arms until he realizes that Conrad is still hard, his erection throbbing against his thigh. Gwendal blinks at Conrad, blushing and wondering where the blood could be coming from to flush in his cheeks. "You didn't…" Gwendal croaks and Conrad twists against him.

"No I didn't, but… but it was good? Good for you?" Gwendal nods, and Conrad laughs, catching Gwendal's bottom lip between his teeth and tugging. "Get up. I know what I want."

Gwendal rolls with Conrad obligingly until Conrad is seated on top of him. Conrad settles himself against the cradle of Gwendal's thighs, legs spread on either side of Gwendal's stomach. Conrad's eyes are shining, and his hair is mussed, and Gwendal realizes just how… he would use the word 'beautiful', but that really is a silly word to describe a man, unless you were to use it to describe Wolfram. Gwendal is completely bemused as Conrad spreads his legs further and leans back, resting his weight on his hands, resting his hands on Gwendal's thighs. Gwendal's eyes widen in realization, and Conrad smiles sweetly at him. "Touch me?"

Gwendal swallows past the lump in his throat and raises his hand, strokes the firm skin of Conrad's thigh, watches Conrad's eyes close as he wraps his hand around Conrad's erection, the head purplish with blood, skin sticky and damp with pre-come. Gwendal stares as Conrad undulates against him, cock slipping in and out of Gwendal's fist, sweat dripping down his chest in sluggish rivulets. Conrad's hands tighten spasmodically against Gwendal's thighs, and Gwendal can see Conrad's orgasm hit, the muscles of his abdomen tightening as he curls in, thighs quivering with strain. Conrad bites his bottom lip hard to contain his cry, semen spilling out in hot spurts through Gwendal's fingers. Gwendal strokes Conrad through it, and Conrad sinks down onto Gwendal, smearing come and sweat between them as he brings his arms around Gwendal's neck to draw him close for a final kiss. Gwendal closes his eyes, tasting blood as he licks the indentation Conrad's teeth left on his lip. He sucks on the soft flesh, indolent and sleepy.

Conrad nestles against him for a long moment before he sighs and slides off the bed. Gwendal cracks an eye open and watches him move across the room to the marble basin near the window, and Gwendal closes his eyes again as he hears water splash. Conrad comes back to Gwendal with a damp cloth and wipes him clean, and then does the same for himself. Conrad moves to go back toward the basin again, but Gwendal ignores his intentions, taking the cloth from his hand and tossing it on the floor before pulling him down next to him.

"Gwen?" Conrad asks uncertainly.

Gwendal manipulates the covers around them and curls closer to Conrad, resting his arm over Conrad's chest. "Mph," he says eloquently.

Conrad laughs, playing with a lock of Gwendal's hair. "I should have realized you liked to cuddle."

Gwendal grunts. "Be quiet, or I'll send you back to your room."

Conrad pulls Gwendal's arm tighter over him, and shakes his head just enough for Gwendal to feel it. "Good night," Conrad whispers.

Gwendal is drifting to sleep when he hears a soft, "I love you." and he isn't sure whether or not he's dreaming the words.

*

Gwendal and Conrad go to breakfast together in the morning, and Gwendal is completely unprepared for their mother. She takes one look at him and shrieks with glee, hurrying over to him and pressing her hand against his forehead. Gwendal glares at her from beneath her perfectly manicured nails. "Anissina was right!" she wails happily. Gwendal notes the baffled looks of almost everyone around him and feels better for knowing absolutely nothing of what his mother's talking about.

Anissina is sitting at the table, calmly sipping a cup of tea. "I told you, Lady Celi."

His mother claps her hands, turning back to Anissina. "I promise, I shall never doubt you again. Dumpling Miracle-kun really does work!"

"What are you talking about?" Gwendal snaps. Conrad smiles at Gwendal's obvious pique and shakes his head.

His mother turns to him again, eyes sparkling. "Anissina told me that Dumpling Miracle-kun would get rid of some of your wrinkles, and she was right!"

Gwendal blinks and dismisses the whole thing as another monument to his mother and Anissina's strangeness.

"You know," His Majesty says, peering at Gwendal from his seat at the table. "I think she's right. You _do_ have fewer wrinkles."

Conrad laughs, his fingers curling around Gwendal's briefly before he takes his seat next to His Majesty.

Gwendal's eye twitches.


End file.
